


Gimme Danger

by haoskojihoda



Category: Corto Maltese (Comics)
Genre: Choking, Corto is 18 here and Ras is 20, Dubious Consent, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Under-negotiated Kink, early years, tags here because they do not communicate enough about these things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-14 05:46:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29662653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haoskojihoda/pseuds/haoskojihoda
Summary: Exploring your sexuality on a crowded steam ship comes with its own set of difficulties, especially when your partner likes you best with his hand around your throat.
Relationships: Corto Maltese/Rasputin
Kudos: 2





	Gimme Danger

**Author's Note:**

> This was written in a daze after I drew [this](https://twitter.com/raspaindulgence/status/1362228206519132161?s=21) and died thinking about young, dumb and full of cum Ras and Corto having very mediocre and desperate sex for the first time in their lives. This is the weird result of that.
> 
> Title taken from a song by The Stooges.

His pillow smelled like Corto's cigarettes.

Rasputin's face was buried into the worn out linen and there was little space to contemplate anything else but the cigarette burns under his right cheek and the bitter smell of smoke. He'd guarded his bed for as long as he could, but somewhere around Hong Kong they'd set fire to Corto's mattress after one too many drinks and he'd been banned from that side of their already tiny cabin. Now the sailor was spending more days in his bed, smoking and reading in it like he owned it - and the worst thing was, Rasputin let him. The sheets that used to reek of vodka and grime now carried salt water and Spanish poetry.

Well. That and the sex.

Corto ran a hand down his back and over the shoddily patched up hole from the bullet his commander had shot at him, and Rasputin drew in a breath, inhaling the damned stench. The boy, he'd learned, liked to take it slow, way slower than anyone he'd seen in army whorehouses or since, and it made him want to curse. Or beg. Neither of those worked, he knew, so he settled on pushing his bare ass against the Spaniard’s briefs. Corto just grabbed his hips and pushed him away.

He'd been working him open for half an hour now, lazy and teasing, and Rasputin was just about ready to just kick the boy out of his bed and finish himself off. It was early in the morning, or at least it had been when they'd started this, Rasputin waking his friend up with a cold hand wrapped around his cock and a few choice promises. Corto could never say no to a blowjob, the lazy bastard, and soon he was on his stomach, waiting to be taken like a whore by a very indolent client. He'd even say it was not worth it, all this fanfare for what always lasted mere minutes, but something made him lie there and take it anyway. It had nothing to do with the noises the boy made every time he entered him. Nothing whatsoever.

Finally Corto slipped his fingers out of him, and with a groan Rasputin accepted his cock, slicked up and hard. It had frightened him, once, the sailor's size a subject of too much mockery and teasing between the two of them, so imposing next to his own - perfectly serviceable, damn him - prick. Corto was careful with him, much to his chagrin, slowly easing himself into the already stretched out insides, the tenderness maddening. The boy knew he didn't want it like this, so caring and unhurried, like they were lovers and not two desperate young men trying to get off in filthy sheets before they had to greet the day. Like Corto was capable of giving that to him. And yet the Spaniard stilled himself when he was fully inside, waiting. 

“Move, blast you, we don't have the time for-!”

The rest of the sentence dissolved into incoherent whines as Corto snapped his hips back and drove into him with frightening precision. Damn this boy, so quick to pick up anything he was taught. Rasputin tightened his grip on the bed sheets and buried his face deeper into the pillow to stifle any embarrassing sounds.

When they'd started this, mere weeks ago, Corto had thrust into him a few times and spent himself too fast, with only a few strangled words of warning. Rasputin hadn't even had the chance to touch his cock before the boy was collapsing over him with half muttered apologies and the feeling of wetness dripping down his thighs. Since then, they'd had time to practice, although neither of them could hold out for too long, which was a source of shame for the both of them. It had made the few desperate romps outside of their shared home less dangerous, adrenaline and deft hands bringing them both over the edge quickly enough that there was no chance of them being seen - although Corto teased him about the possibility incessantly, something that the Spaniard had figured out early into their relationship turned Rasputin on more than anything they did alone. 

Fucking in their cabin was an easy affair. They did it as often as their schedules permitted it, between Corto's senseless daily meanderings and Rasputin's hustles with the crew, which was not nearly as often as he'd like and much more than his friend did. Corto's libido was as mysterious and fickle as the man himself, sometimes completely unresponsive and sometimes so demanding Rasputin's mouth and ass both ended up red and sore. The Russian liked the latter the best, despite what he'd claim in bed long after the passions had settled down. 

This time was one closer to the former, Corto needing too long to get it up even with Rasputin's tongue wrapped around his length and his fingers jerking him off. He'd almost given up, then, resigned to just grind against the stubborn boy until he spilled all over his nightwear and made a mess of it as punishment. Thankfully, the Spaniard's body responded, the boy seemingly snapping out of whatever daze he'd been in, and then things had gone much smoother. Now, the jerky motions and the nails digging into his skin told him he might even get to cum while his friend was still inside of him. 

There was still one thing missing.

He'd learned this only recently, and completely by accident too. They'd been going at it for a while, Corto fucking him with more vigor than usual, biting down on his neck like a damn vampire, when a loud bang rang out from their cabin door. Immediately, Corto's hips had stopped and his hand had flown over the Russian's mouth, both of them as still as the dead, waiting for -- something. Rasputin was keenly aware of the large hand covering his face and the still hard cock in his ass, his heart running a bit faster as he wondered if this was how they'd be found out, not with their hands down each other's pants or on their knees in some corridor, but with Corto mounting him in their own private room. It was hard to breathe.

Whatever drunken sailor had decided to disturb him was clearly on a mission to do that to everyone, and soon they could hear distant bangs growing fainter and fainter as the man moved down the hall and away from them. Corto had sighed then, and when he'd finally turned his attention back on him, Rasputin’s head was already a few shades too red and his arms were grasping at other man's desperately. The rest of that particular night was a haze, the only thing Rasputin could distinctly remember being the firm belief he was going to get killed there, with his prick still hard and weeping underneath Corto's weight. The morning after brought proof that some things could be worse than death - namely, wearing a high collar coat to hide the incriminating handprints left by the boy who, beyond a few vague niceties, had no apologies to offer.

They took a silent break after that. In retrospect, Rasputin should have denied him for longer, just to spite him for being such a careless lover, but they both knew the chances for him to deny anything to Corto Maltese were close to zero. So they'd ended up on the rails of the deck, Rasputin with his hands holding onto them for his dear life as Corto fucked up into him in the cold night air. It hadn't been one of his proudest moments, what with the cum leaking out of his ass as they walked back to their cabin and Corto's self satisfied smirk never once leaving his face, but he'd gone to sleep content then and well, that was all that mattered. Since then they'd developed a system, and he knew the sailor would pull on it. Rasputin wanted him to get it over with already.

“Ras…” It always started with his name. The Russian thought maybe Corto's mother had just taught him it was polite to ask for unspeakable things from people if only you addressed them by name first. It was the kind of nonsense his friend would cling to.

“Do we have to? I'm still sore from your last stunt!” He was, this was the truth. Corto had no measure when it came to this, not yet. Rasputin didn't feel so generous as to be his practice doll for these things. If it had been him with this fixation, he sincerely doubted the boy would have been so accommodating.

Corto did not whine, because Corto was too self-possessed to lower himself to that, but his thrusts lost the enthusiasm and Rasputin knew his friend was brooding at the rejection. Sometimes, he could be so childish. 

The Russian tapped Corto's hand on his hip to signal him to turn him over and then they were face to face, the boy having lowered himself down to kiss him in the process. It was all a game, these little affections, but Rasputin fell for them every time, something in his chest beating incessantly every time Corto graced him with his attention. It was the closest to a plea that he would get out of this boy, and he savored the way his tongue felt against the others as Corto once again started moving inside of him. Charming bastard.

They were soon there, in their usual position, except Rasputin had never thought being choked by his junior would be his normal, and yet here he was, saliva dripping out from his mouth as he struggled to keep calm under the pressure. At present he was certain Corto had no plans to actually strangle him during sex, if only because the cleanup would be too bothersome for the boy, but there was always a sense of panic in the back of his head, something primal that strained every time those fingers dug into the sides of his throat. Corto was looking at him now, at his own hands clamped around his throat, looking with such concentration Rasputin thought impossible - his own mind was getting more and more unfocused with each passing moment. He knew the Spaniard was still fucking him, could feel his prick inside of him, but the sensation felt muted somehow, nothing like the pounding blood in his ears. This was going to bruise.

In hindsight, it couldn't have lasted more than a few minutes, Corto always quick to cum once his twisted desire was fulfilled. At some point he must have finished too, coming untouched like some inexperienced brat, because his stomach was slick with it when he came to his senses after Corto removed his hands. The sailor collapsed half on top of him after that, the softening member still inside of him. He thought he could hear Corto murmuring thanks into his neck as he kissed his reddened flesh, but his body was half asleep by then. Rasputin hoped that they'd still have a few more hours to rest. He felt warm and safe for once.


End file.
